Two people, one story
by Loveforthestory
Summary: This is the story about many first times. Those first times tell the story of two people who are trying to figure out how to live life again. A story about war. Trust. Faith. Friendship. Brothers. Family. Love. And things time and war can never change.
1. Chapter 1

**This is the story about many first times. Those first times tell the story of two people who are trying to figure out how to live life again.** **A story about war. Trust. Faith. Friendship. Brothers. Family. Love. And things time and war can never change.**

I do not own Revolution, this is just a daydream about what could have happened too.

This first chapter starts somewhere at the end of season two...

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Chapter

1.

The first time...she finds comfort in something belonging to him.

The thrill of battle is still in the air. He can sense it in the dark adrenaline that is pumping through his veins. He can feel it in bloody satisfaction that barely soothes his thirst for revenge.

The chill air brushes the sweat that is running down from the dark blonde curls at the nape of his neck on its way to the strong lines of his neck and shoulders. The gleam of battle sweat there on his chest, right above his shirt.

He is walking through their camp, shoulder to shoulder with the man that has been his brother since he was four. Brothers again. Fighting again, no matter how much bullshit is there. Fires are burning. They are filling the air with the scent of smoke and the red golden flames that pierce through the grey of the late afternoon.

Men are chatting around the fires as bottles are shared and weapons are laying close to their feet. The night is approaching. Nods of respect and approval for this attack follow them all the way through camp. He lead their group with Miles into the short but fierce battle against kaki. And for one fucking moment they are what they once were in Philly. Miles. Him.

They are approaching the tall abandoned factory close to the tree line on their left in the heart of their camp. Miles is avoiding Rachel's eyes as he approaches her. She is helping Gene with the wounded men and is taking care of a deep shoulder wound of a knife that found Scanlon's shoulder in battle.

Aaron and Priscilla are warming their hands near a fire in front of the building. Bass' eyes are now on their packs close to the fire.

'Did you see my jacket?' Bass grunts to Miles. He takes in a deep breath while he moves a couple of fingers over his mouth and his nose. He can taste his own sweat mixed with the copper of blood on his lips.

Miles is about to shake his head in a gesture of _no and don't care_ when he sees Aaron's face. 'What in the hell is going on, Aaron?' Miles asks, his fingers craving a bottle in them.

'Well...I might know where your jacket is, Monroe.' Aaron says reluctantly. Priscilla follows their conversation without speaking. Bass turns his head to him as Aaron nods to door of the building behind him.

He narrows his eyes a bit as he looks from Staypuft to the building in front of him and then back to Staypuft again. A questioning, irritated and impatient look is appearing on his face. His eyes filling a bit more darkness.

Aaron snorts bitterly for the way Monroe believes he is actually going to help him. 'If you think I am going to wake _her_ up to get _your_ jacket, than you are seriously out of your mind.'

'Her.. ' Bass moves his hand to the hilt of his sword, '...excuse me...?' He moves his weight to his left boot as an uncomfortable as hell feeling settles in his damn gut. 'What the hell do you mean Staypuft?' Bass barks, more irritation for this whole damn situation and the adrenaline of the fight adding more force to his words now.

'Yeah..you figure it our yourself. Good luck with that.' Aaron says, annoyed, as he decides talking to Monroe is not on his _things to do this afternoon_ list anymore.

Miles is about to roll his eyes at the both of them as Rachel's demanding voice stops him. 'Miles?' Her voice reaches the territory of ice lacing her words while her eyes move in a calculated way between Monroe and Miles.

With a incredulous huff of air for the way that bitch has his brother on a damn lash, Bass shakes his head as he watches his brother walk away two fucking seconds after Rachel summoned him. The ice in her eyes aimed at Miles a punishment for following Bass into battle _._

Dark irritation is still there in his eyes as he walks into the building in front of him. The temperatures are dropping and he wants his leather jacket. Now. His eyes adjust to the different light inside the building.

There are only a couple of candles that illuminate the space. But he sees her nevertheless. Curled up on some old couch right in front of him. Her head against _his_ jacket. A part of that black leather jacket wrapped around her shoulders.

'Dammit..' Bass curses as he stops a couple of feet in front of the couch. There is plenty of fucking space between them, but the image of her so god damn close to what belongs to him is nailing him to the damn ground. Messing with the fabric of his pants that feels too tight around his groin all of sudden.

Her dark blonde curls are flowing over his jacket. She is fast asleep. Her eyelashes are resting on her cheeks. _Fucking hell_. His heart swells at the sight of Charlie, asleep against his jacket.

He looks around him until he finds what he is looking for. A woollen blanket, close to the couch. He softly walks over to her. _Never startle a sleeping Matheson._

He takes a nervous breath when he crouches down next to her, her cheek still softly against the leather that is normally around his shoulders. He can see the faint stains of blood that remind him of the battle she followed him and Miles into, giving him her silent support for what had to be done.

'Hey, it's okay Charlie...just making sure you're warm all right? ' His voice is barely audible.

Hell, he used to be good at this. His mind is trying to find some words because a part of him wants her to get some sleep. He wants to tell her she can, with him and Miles close. She needs it. He knows how fucking much she does, even when her brave, loyal stubborn fighting spirit can push her to keep on going without much sleep. _So much like Miles._

Charlie hears a low gruff voice. She can't understand the words but she feels the low rhythm of the voice reaching her. She feels a familiar hand far away in her heavy sleep. She knows those hands. She has felt them when drugs had filled her system. When she had known so little about him. Before he had showed her more. It had been raining then. There is no rain now. Only the pull of a battle that is messing with her muscles, an old couch and the desire to sleep for hours without being bothered.

She fell asleep one hour ago, or maybe it has been longer. She doesn't remember. She _does_ remember walking into the strangely comforting shadows of the room after hours of battle and crouching down before a bucket of cool water to rub the worst of sweat and blood from her hands and face.

 _One couch stands close to a non working fireplace. It is all she needs. It is small, but big enough for her. She is too tired to think about another option. When she curls up against the left side of the couch the scent of leather, and him, reaches her before the cool material brushes her face. She has not even seen it when she moved onto the couch. She feels it now._

 _She knows. She knows it's his. And something strange happens as his scent mixed with black leather soothes her confusing battle and death filled thoughts and the spikes of adrenaline in her blood. She moves her knees to her upper body, curling up on the couch. She is cold. He is close. Her body feels heavy with something blank and relaxed at the same time. With the heavy pressure of solace she moves a part of his jacket over her shoulder before she falls asleep._

She feels a large hand moving over her shoulder. She knows it's his. She knows it is him.

Bass is so close he can hear her breathe evenly. But he also knows she is awake enough to know it is him. The fact that she is not moving, or has opened her eyes in annoyance or is trying to kill him, makes him have to swallow everything away he can't feel for her.

He knows he shouldn't. But he is still crouched down next to her and she almost disappear into the nook of his arm. His fingers brush the soft skin of her cheeks for one fucking second. Touching the red stains that he wished he could take away from her skin. From her. It is everything he allows himself to take from her, as her soft skin warms a part of him that has been cold and chilled to the bone for so long. Then he tells himself to get a fucking grip.

Charlie feels his tall, wide body next to her. She does not have to open his eyes to see him. She _feels_ him. The scent of his hand, _and him_ , and the calloused rough skin of the gentle touch of his hand is close and wrapped around her cheek. Comforting fingers linger longer than they have to, so close to her. Or maybe sleep is changing everything. But this is war. Hard fights and long days and so much death and dark despair. So for one second, Charlie breathes out as she leans into his touch before she falls asleep again with something heavy and warm that now embraces her again.

His hand is slowly moving over her shoulder as he moves his jacket away from her as the image of her under it is burned in his mind like his mark on her wrist. Before he moves the woollen blanket over her, he keeps her warm with his body so close to hers.

She is asleep before she can hear his heavy boots leave the room.

Charlie is there, imprinted in the scent of his leather jacket as she soothes the worst of the raw lonely steel rage in his blood. Bass walks through their camp with his leather jacket around his shoulders and her scent lingering around him.

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 **Author's Note I am so happy I finally have time to start publishing this story with this first chapter and scene with that one leather jacket that is one of my favorite characters in Revolution. The image in my mind of Charlie on that couch is the scene that was the inspiration to start this whole story many months ago. I am currently working on the next chapters with more _first times_ that will tell more of **_**their**_ **story. Thank you so much for reading, I love knowing you are all here to enjoy Revolution! Love from Love**


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter

2.

The first time…Bass knows exactly how the soft curves under that jacket of hers feel ( that afternoon some asshole shot him)

He hears her voice over the sounds of shots and battle, screaming out his brother's name. He feels the chilling jolt of impossible fear spreading through his body. His next breath is filled with the terror and possibility of her being hurt.

But then he feels something sharp spreading through side, and he realizes _he_ is the one being hurt. He is the one with a fucking bullet wound in his side.

An angry roar escapes from his chest as rage fills his eyes. The lines in his face become deeper with seething hate and pain. Bass kills two more kaki assholes with one angry lashing out of his blades, before the screaming pain in his side forces him through his knees.

Charlie feels a deep unexpected fear cutting through raging adrenaline that fills her blood and fuels her actions, when it is her and the rhythm of the battlefield around her. They are trying to wipe out the Patriots taking over Texas and the rest of the continent for good. She shoves a knife through a chest as she turns her body towards Monroe. And Miles.

Red stains of blood are on her face and hands, her deep blonde locks are flying over her shoulders and through the air. And with one skilled jab of fury her knife ends another enemy to make room to get to him. To get to Monroe. The face of the patriot in front of her does not matter. He is standing between her and Monroe. The faceless guy drops to the ground.

'Miles..' She screams again, her throat hurting with the intensity of his name. Her eyes are on Bass, her mind screams for her uncle.

Her hands keep on fighting. But all her mind can do is make her reach out for Miles, who is slashing his way through four patriots with two deadly swords and decades of experience.

She knows Miles has heard her. His sword ends another part of the kaki threat that had ambushed them today with a ferocious attack coming from the north of the forest.

Miles is not meeting her eyes but a change in his shoulders and the rhythm of the movement in his hands , tells her he knows.

Charlie knows how death is chasing them on a daily basis in this war against the Patriots they are fighting this summer. She knows. She realizes how great the risks are. She fights this battle anyway.

She has always done exactly that and she won't change who she is. But she had not realized what it would do to her heart when she would see him in trouble and hurt, only ten feet away from her.

She had not realized how great the shock of fear and deadly cold spreading through her chest would feel like when she watches Monroe going through his knees. There are only a handful of patriots fighting them now, and they are almost there.

She kills another guy, on her right. _Almost there_ , her battle mind breathes. It are both Bass and Miles that keep her going. Not only by being there with her on this battlefield, but also because they have both taught her in so many ways to never stop fighting. To never give up. So she doesn't.

She registers how Miles kills two more men from the corner of her eyes.

And then, she is with him, right before Monroe hits the ground with his upper body. Images of Jason, _of Austin_ , are threatening to fill her mind. She pushes them all out as she does the one thing she can and wants to do. Which is catch him, right before he completely collapses.

Charlie feels the heavy weight of Monroe's tall, battle hard body in her arms as she goes to the ground with him. His face ends up against her chest. His sticky sweaty curls now against the bare skin above the line of her tank. His sweat mixing with hers. Her hand now on his wound, adding pressure.

Bass feels how the battle field around him is slowly fading to the background. He can hear his own breathing as his knees hit the moss and grass of the forest under him. He has imagined himself dying in a lot of ways.

Bleeding out on a concrete floor after Rachel Matheson shoved a screwdriver in his chest. Miles putting a gun against his head. _Again_. Tom fucking Neville, betraying him, once more.

He had known there was always a possibility it would end like that.

But not like this.

Not against her fucking soft curves under her tank that are suddenly there and with the fabric of her tank and jacket against his temple. Not with surprisingly gentle fingers moving through his hair. Not with her thighs supporting his weight. Not with her demanding voice and hands yanking him back from whatever the fuck is happening.

Bass feels a lot of soft Charlie and if this bullet wound would not hurt like a bitch, he would fucking smirk right now. Realizing somewhere far away exactly where his temple is pressed against. Of course, Charlie would kill him herself if she knew his mind was full of some gorgeous features of her body that are pressed against his fucking temple and cheek right the hell now.

 _Hell,_ if he has to chose between dying because of those damn patriot assholes or Miles killing him because of what the hell he is thinking now because he is currently pressed against some very fine tits, _his niece's tits_ , he definitely knows which way he wants to go.

But no one is killing him. There are only slender hands, one close to his temple and the other pressed against his side and stronger ones he has known all his life.

'Bass...' _Charlie_. It cannot be her. His nickname coming from her is almost too foreign _._ 'Bass...hey, can you hear me?' _Miles_. 'Stay with us, all right?'

He can hear a plea in Miles' voice that cannot possibly be there for him, coming from the man he still sees as a brother.

'We need a medic. Now.' Miles' voice booms through the air as a raw order. Miles looks from Bass to Charlie. It should surprise him, the raw fear in his niece's eyes, the same fear that is filling his mind now when he looks at Bass. It doesn't.

Charlie holds him, as she looks from Bass to Miles. She sees the same panic in Miles' eyes that is currently racing through her heart. The rest of the forest fades around them. It is just the three of them.

Bass' eyes, that are normally so filled with steel rage and blue challenge and so many things she has not wanted to name yet, are unfocussed. She feels the shift in his weight when she feels him lean more into her.

'Bass...come on...' Miles raises his voice with a low rough panic lacing through his words.

Charlie can see the start of angry tears in Miles' eyes. There is raw care mixing with those tears and for one second she wonders if this is what it had looked like, when _she_ had been laying there, on the ground, in those tunnels under Philly and it had been Miles' voice that had been pulling her back to him.

Miles' hands are cupping Bass' face now as he is ordering him to keep his eyes open. General to general. Brother to brother.

She does not see hate or years of battle and loss and pain and everything they build in Philly that imploded over the past years. She sees two brothers. She sees love.

She watches how Miles is caring for his brother when Monroe is in her arms. So, she holds Monroe close to her body, making sure she keeps him as warm as she possibly can when they wait for help. She can see someone running towards them.

Bass feels their voices and soft hands as an echo that is now disappearing into a lot of darkness around him, as he knows they are both there with him.

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When the night falls, her tears come. They are sitting next to Bass, who is still unconscious. He is wrapped in blankets to keep him warm in a tent in their camp. When they fall over the skin of her cheeks Miles pulls her close.

'Come here...' Miles nods to her, his voice is rough comforting warmth in her hair when she moves into his embrace.

She sobs into his neck as he wraps his arm around her. His wide hand cups her shoulder blades. Her fingers tremble when they land on his shirt, the palm of her hand now against his chest. They feel like an ambush, these tears. The fear of losing Bass, the man who fought with her _and for her_ , closing in on her.

Her mouth is moving but she can't find the right words. Words her heart is only starting to understand now. She does not want to do this without him.

'I know kid...I know.' Miles mumbles in her ear. They wait _,_ together, next to Bass. Waiting for him to come back to both of them.

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When he wakes up the forest is gone. The battle is over. He walks up in a tent in a god damn bed instead of hell.

He grunts something when his whole body hurts like hell. But he also wakes up to the image of his brother sitting on a chair close to his bed and Charlie's head in his lap. The soft light of some candles falls on her face through the shadows of the night in the tent around him. Miles' hand is cupping her head, his fingers resting on her hair.

He tries to move. Then he curses again and realizes he is not going to move anytime soon. The cold moist ground of the forest is now replaced by a softer surface under him and the realization they are both there.

Bass grunts something as he tries to breathe. His mouth is dry, his side hurts like a bitch. But his brother is here. _Charlie._ She is here. He follows the image of her eyelashes on her cheeks to her jaw line as his eyes travel from her shoulder to her arm. He follows the line of her slender arm. Until he sees her hand, in his.

He is suddenly aware of warmth of her skin against his calloused fingers. Bass locks eyes with Miles as he swallows the taste of near death and blood away. He finds eyes he has not seen in such a long time.

They are the eyes of a brother he followed through hell and back. Eyes that have been there for so long and for so many times and years. They are gentler, deeper. Filled with almost the same comfort he finds in the warmth of her hand in his, and filled with the bond of two brothers that Bass had believed had died in Philly.

It is still here, here in this tent in the middle of this fucking war they are fighting. With her. With Charlie. Because she had decided to fight this fight with them. With Miles. With him. He should have been surprised that afternoon when she had thrown her things in front of his and Miles' boots. Telling them in the only way Charlie could she was going with them.

He should have been surprised. He wasn't. This woman, she is a fighter. Stubborn as fuck. But he would not want to fight this war without her. Another war. Them again.

He expects a lot of fucking things when he realizes Miles knows her hand is in his hand. Anger, irritation. But not this silent acceptance of the three of them in a dark tent in a camp somewhere in fucking Texas in the middle of war and her reaching out for him.

'Get back to sleep, Bass.' Miles says, when Charlie mumbles something in her sleep.

Everything is different in those seconds, minutes and hours after battle. Or maybe they are exactly what they are as emotions and hidden care and love reach the surface in an inevitable way. Because Bass sees relieve in Miles' deep eyes as his a brother is telling him to get back to sleep with her warm fingers in his hand. Bass wraps his fingers around hers, catching the comfort of her slender strong hand and wrapping it in his, right before he falls asleep.

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 **Author's Note We saw a lot of interesting moment in season two where Charlie shows she feels more for Bass than just the hate she used to feel for him. She saved his life more than once. I wanted to write this moment to show that in those hard moment in a battle, hidden emotions can come to the surface. I also wanted to show the bond between Miles and Bass, and write about them, now they are fighting this war together again. Thank you for all your reviews, they mean so very much to me! Chapter three will be published next week. Love from Love**


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